A Tale of Days Gone By
by a.talking.dog
Summary: On a winter night in Bree, a hobbit sings a song of Merry and the Witch-king. Well, what he's been able to piece together of the story anyway. But what does he care if it isn't all that accurate. You should never let the truth get in the way of a good story, after all.


_Based on The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien._

* * *

The common room of the Prancing Pony was crowded and lively as townsfolk and travelers alike celebrated the first day of Yule. The floor was damp with melting snow, and the air was thick and sweet with pipe smoke. A crackling fire burned in the hearth, made all the more cozy by the howl of the wind outside.

A high voice cut through the cut through the crowd, coming from a little, sandy-haired hobbit who was standing on one of the long tables and waving his arms.

"If I could just get everyone's attention please," the voice piped. With some reluctance, the roar of voices subsided to a quiet murmur, and all eyes turned to the hobbit. "I couldn't let a year like this pass by without saying some words to mark the occasion."

"You can't let anything pass by without saying some words, Lob," said the barman from behind a tray of mugs.

"Why Mr. Butterbur, you of all people should see the cause for celebration this year," Lob replied. Addressing the crowd again, he announced, "Our Buck here has had a record-breaking year here at the inn, truly worthy of his family's legacy. And of course, with that recent announcement from his lovely wife, we can all expect that legacy continue for at least another generation more.

"Our dear King Eldarion and his men continue to keep the ruffians at bay, so trade is good and our little city is bustling. We've also had a lovely apple harvest, the best any of us can remember. Let's be thankful for that as we all enjoy the cider tonight. Yes, there's truly a great deal to be grateful for this year. And so, to mark the occasion, I've composed a song for you all."

"Another of your wild tales then, Lob?" asked Buck.

"Buckwheat Butterbur! I'll have you know my songs are all based on careful, detailed research. They aren't 'wild tales.' They're absolute, historical fact."

"Last time you said the moon was made from a wheel of cheese," Buck countered.

Another voice piped up from the crowd and added, "I might have been able to believe that one, but then he went and said the sun was a giant cherry."

"I'll admit, I had to fill in a few details, but I was told that on good authority by an elf passing through here. But that's not the song I'm going to share with you today. Today, my story starts a little closer to home. It's the tale of a great hobbit called Meriadoc, and his triumph over the evil Witch-king. Any of you who think that we hobbits are too small for great deeds should listen up."

Lob cleared his throat and began:

 _Away down in the Shire in a cozy little hole_  
 _Down by the banks of Brandywine, within a rolling knoll,_  
 _There dwelt a hobbit, Merry, both in temperament and name._  
 _No folks in all the land could greater deeds than Merry claim._  
 _So when a princess came in need of brave knights for a quest,_  
 _The folks there said, "Ask Merry, for he surely is the best."_

 _The lady said to Merry, "Help us, please, oh little knight,"_  
 _For all through Rohan people dwell in terrifying fright._  
 _A wraith of Sauron haunts our lands, a Nazgûl, there's no doubt._  
 _And there are none among us who can hope to drive him out._  
 _This Witch-king killed my uncle, and he steals our horses too._  
 _Oh, won't you help us please, kind sir; we don't know what to do."_

 _"Of course I'll help," brave Merry said, "For I could not allow,"_  
 _"a maiden fair as you to wear such fear upon her brow."_  
 _And with a tiny bow goodbye, he set out on his way._  
 _To Rohan, where the horse lords dwell, so he could save the day._  
 _He came upon the_ _Nazgûl_ _as it terrorized a town._  
 _And Merry yelled, "Now stop it now," and chased its dark form down._

 _"You leave this land, foul evil shade," said Merry with a roar,_  
 _"For if you don't, I'll slay you," and he drew the sword he bore._  
 _The Witch-king laughed at Merry, "Oh, no man can_ _Nazgûl_ _slay."_  
 _Then Merry laughed as well and said, "No man then, so you say?"_  
 _"Well that's alright, for I'm not man, but hobbit, don't you see?"_  
 _Then Merry fell upon the wraith and stabbed him in the knee._

 _And so began a fearsome dual between halfling and shade_  
 _But though the_ _Nazgûl_ _'s arm was strong, each swing of his sword strayed._  
 _And Merry's blade, though small as he, was talented and quick._  
 _And in the end, his nimble skill was what did do the trick._  
 _He danced about the wraith and struck a final darting blow._  
 _And cast his insubstantial corpse upon the green meadow._

 _And so the Witch-king's reign was broke by Merry the Magnificent_  
 _Defender of the little folk, protector of the innocent._

"Thank you all for listening," said Lob once he'd finished his song. "I wish you all a happy Yule and the best of fortunes in the coming year."

* * *

 _Some feedback on this thing I wrote would really help a lot, so maybe post a little note to tell me what you thought._


End file.
